


Mistletoe

by aoxford



Category: Darling Pan - Fandom, ouat
Genre: Christmas Story, F/M, mistletoe???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 10:39:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2847968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aoxford/pseuds/aoxford
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only Christmas tradition Peter will allow is mistletoe....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> Hellllo. Ok first posted story thingy? This one is for everlasting-bond.tumblr.com for the Darling Pan Exchange!!! Idk if I really stuck to the prompt, but I tried my best haha...  
> I really hope you like it, anddddd let me know what you think!  
> Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

Wendy crosses her arms over her chest, huffing out a sigh while glaring at Peter from under her eyelashes. Peter, ever so amused by his charming little bird, smirks, cocking his head and raising an eyebrow in the way that Wendy hates to love. It irritates her that she can be so irked with the boy in one moment, and in the next all she wishes to do is jump his bones. Now is one of those moments.  
“Peter,” she drawls, trying to cover up her want for the devil-boy, “You can’t expect me to forget everything from home.” Her use of the word ‘home’, when referring to her childhood home in London, irritates Peter, and his stance automatically tenses.  
“Your home is here, Wendy, and the sooner you forget everything about London, the better,” he snaps as he leans into her face, causing Wendy to flinch, her shoulders hunching just slightly, but enough for Peter to notice, so he takes a step back, allowing her breathing room. He spins and saunters away, but not without throwing a few last words over his shoulder to the disgruntled bird.  
“And I’ve decided no Christmas in Neverland. It would only remind you of London.” He smirks, allowing his last dig to settle in her head, before leaving Wendy alone outside of her tree house. She steels herself, accustomed to Peter’s typical barbs and jabs, but this one stung. Christmas had been Wendy’s favorite holiday with her family. The smell of the pine tree, the twinkle of the lights, the sweetness of eggnog and the sharp bite of the holiday snow. She adored Christmas, and to her the idea of sharing something so dear to her with Peter and the Lost Boys was a big step toward her acceptance of her new home. But, Peter was adamant that it would only serve to remind her of how much she missed her old home, and he was desperate to keep his bird happy in Neverland. Not that he’d ever admit that to Wendy.  
As she slowly makes her way back into her tree house, Peter glances back, catching a glimpse of Wendy with her head dropped low as she lets her tree house door glide shut behind her. He almost feels guilty, and he quickly banishes that thought, because Peter Pan did not feel guilt for anything, ever. But as the day continued on, and Wendy remained hidden in her tree house, Peter couldn’t shake the feeling. He pondered and cursed, paced and thought about what he could do to make this awful feeling go away. Then suddenly, it hit him like a snowball to the face.  
He recalled Wendy telling the boys about her holiday, describing all of the different traditions and customs she and her family had, some about cookies and creamy drinks, others concerning a surplus of wrapped packages that pile up under a decorated tree—he didn’t claim to understand Wendy’s strange practices—and yet only one stood out in his mind. The one he would probably prefer, should he deal with Christmas and the likes of it.  
Mistletoe.  
He remembered how rosy Wendy’s cheeks got when one of the boys—Nibs, probably, he was always asking questions—asked Wendy what ‘mistletoe’ was and why the people in London hung it in door frames. She had blushed, and quickly explained the plant and its ritual of inducing couples to kiss beneath it. A devilish smirk erupted on Peter’s face, and he eagerly began his mission of bringing Christmas to Neverland for Wendy. Or at least, part of Christmas…

When Wendy ventures out of her tree house, it is with a steeled heart and a stiff spine, along with a bitter feeling toward Peter. ‘He didn’t have to be so absolutely rude’, she thought to herself as she marched toward the Lost Boys’ camp. As she approached, she could tell something was off. It was far too quiet for the middle of the day, typically the boys made quite the raucous as they play fought or created some sort of new, dangerous, game. As she neared the thick foliage that encircled the camp, Wendy pulled her dagger from her boot, wary of the possible threats of pirates, intruders, or a new evil game the boys could have created, one that involved her, and not in a friendly way.  
She stepped lightly through the small entrance to the camp, and saw—nothing. She hollered as a hand grabbed her around her waist and what she guessed to be a blindfold was slipped over her eyes. She fought back valiantly, swiping and jabbing expertly with her dagger, but she was only rewarded with a single grunt of pain. As she was dragged away, a hand clamped over her mouth, keeping her from screaming and yelling and cursing—a nasty habit she had picked up from the older Lost Boys, one that typically only made appearances when she was exceptionally infuriated. She eventually gave up, and allowed her body to go limp as her captor drug her through the Neverland forest.  
When the arm wound around her waist suddenly released her, Wendy landed hard on her bottom, on something wet and cold. As she scrambled to yank off her blindfold, she picked up on the almost nervous shifting of her kidnapper. Once her eyes were freed she looked around in bewilderment, stunned and delighted at the sight of the soft white flakes that drifted down all around her. She spun, locking eyes with Peter—the only person that would ever be able to get away with stealing her away—and allowed a smile to slip across her face.  
“Peter,” she trailed off, her eyes softening as she took a few steps closer to the boy. He cleared his throat, and tipped his head up, and Wendy’s eyes followed his motion. Not far above Peter, no doubt floating due to his magic, was a thick bundle of mistletoe, the bright red berries glistening in the bright reflection of the snow that was beginning to pile up around the couple. She grinned magnificently, and looked back down, catching Peter’s eyes before he bashfully looked away.  
“I felt bad…and I wanted it to stop,” he admitted in a brief moment of an uncommon shyness. As quickly as it came, though, the shyness vaporized, and a Cheshire like grin spread across his mouth.  
“Wendy. Don’t tell me you forgot the practice of mistletoe? Oh dear, but this is my favorite Christmas tradition! Isn’t it yours, too?” He smirks and closes the distance between them in one large stride. Peter wraps his arms around Wendy’s petit waist, leaning in until they can feel each others’ breath on one another’s’ face. He stills, just centimeters away from Wendy’s mouth, and instinctively she closes the gap, connecting their lips.  
The snow swirls around them and the mistletoe hangs in the air above them, but neither Wendy nor Peter notice. Both are too absorbed in each other to care anything about their surroundings. They break occasionally, to gather oxygen back into their lungs, before Peter or Wendy dives back in for another round of enthusiastic kisses. During one of their breaks for air, Peter murmurs into Wendy’s ear.  
“Mistletoe is the only Christmas tradition I’ll allow.”


End file.
